Darkness Resides Within
by Elmo.E.Kazi
Summary: Noncompliant with HBP. It's suffocating, she breathed, rubbing her neck gently. Like I'm suffocating. Darkness would consume everyon if it could, he replied. Instead, other force it to lie dormant within. HGDM


**!ATTENTION! Noncompliant with Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. That is all.**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters or Harry Potter® related items. All belongs to JK Rowling.

**Chapter One**

**The World is Black**

_Turn on Channel 7 at a quarter to eight_

_You see the same damn thing _

_It's just a different day_

_And no one really knows why this is happening (But it's happening)_

_And everywhere you go, it's just a different place_

_You get the same dark feeling_

_See the same sad faces_

_And no one really cares that this is happening._

**-'The World is Black', Good Charlotte**

Hermione was sitting silently by the window in the train compartment she shared with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Her eyes were glazed over as she stared out at the passing scenery with disinterest. She wasn't really looking out the window though; she rather seemed to be glaring at something _on_ it, though the glass was clean and completely flawless. She let out a small sigh and her eyes softened into more of a forlorn expression. Harry, Ron, and Ginny all exchanged knowing looks as Hermione rested her forehead against the cool glass.

The summer had been disastrously eventful, more so even for the Gryffindor bookworm.

In the span of three days, Hermione had lost her parents to Death Eaters, run away from her home, attempted suicide, and then locked herself away in her room at the Burrow, refusing help or healing from anyone. A few weeks afterward, Hermione had received a letter from her aunt and cousin, since all of her mail to her old home had been forwarded to her at the Burrow, that had described how disgusted they were with her and blaming her for her parents' deaths. Mr. Weasley, who had confiscated the letter, had sent Mind-Swipers from the Ministry and all traces of Hermione's magical history had been wiped from her remaining relatives minds. Overall, Hermione had to concede that her summer had not been as bright and sunny as she had hoped it would have been.

After the death of her mother and father, Hermione had allowed her appearance to fall deeply into ruin. Her hair, though never really having been tamed, was more tangled and bushy than ever. Her eyes had lost all lively twinkle or color and dark circles had formed beneath them, the eyelids of which were constantly drooping into a half-asleep stupor. Her skin, which had once been only mildly pale was blotchy and sallow and barely any color was distinguishable on her cheeks. Her form had become frail, much like a delicate twig beneath her robes and her cheeks bones were very noticeable beneath her skin.

The injuries on her arms, now barely noticeable white scars, had not been healed by anyone and Hermione had not allowed anyone to look at or touch them. Indeed, when someone came in contact with her at all, she'd flinch and move away as quickly as possible. Hermione had worn long sleeved through summer and she was glad that the sleeves of the robes reached also a fair distance past her wrists to hide the offended scars from view.

While she had, at the beginning, used study as away to drive off her depression, soon she grew bored of her books and took to throwing them across the room whenever her temper seemed to get the best of her. Harry, Ron, and Ginny, though they had all tried to comfort her in the beginning, Ron receiving a black eyes and Harry on the wrong end of a nose-crushing punch, had mostly kept their distance. Hermione had apologized to them and asked them each just to give her a little time and rest and she would be fine soon.

It was never like that, however, and things only got worse with time. Hermione began to spend more time crying or throwing very uncharacteristic tantrums than she did eating or sleeping. She became quiet and drawn off from the rest of the world and even when she had received her Hogwarts letter, deeming her Head Girl, she had shrugged her shoulders in a somber notion of indifference, before carrying her badge and letter back to her room.

A few more weeks passed and soon Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were rounding Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny to go to King's Cross Station. Mr. Weasley had managed to acquire some Ministry cars, disguised as taxicabs, for their trip. The trip had been relatively quiet, though Mr. Weasley had tried, futilely, to start conversation on many occasions. They had arrived not too long afterward and once they were on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Mrs. Weasley had given them each a kiss on the cheek, though her face was sopping in tears.

"_Oh goodness,_" she had cried, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief as more tears leaked out. "Too think I'll only be returning to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters one more time and that you three won't be with us. It will seem so lonely without you. Good luck, Hermione, dear, with your Head Girl duties and school. I hope that coming back to Hogwarts will lift your spirits a little. I hope that I'll see you all for Christmas. Good-bye dears."

That was how Hermione had come to find herself staring rather sullenly out the window of her compartment, the silence rather awkward and deafening. She checked her watch and then stood up, adjusting her robes.

"I have to go meet the Head Boy in the back compartment for a meeting with the prefects," she told them, her voice soft and emotionless. She stopped at the compartment door and turned to look at Ginny expectantly. "Ginny…you were made a prefect, weren't you?"

"Huh, what? Oh, yeah," Ginny replied, also getting to her feet and adjusting her long robes and puffing out her chest ever so slightly.

The two females departed the compartment and started down the train's corridor toward the back. The sounds of joyful laughter and chatting could be heard from the passing compartments, Ginny fidgeting slightly at the discomfited silence that had fallen between Hermione and she.

"So, erm—" ventured Ginny, trying, like her father, to start up conversation with the reticent brunette beside her. "Who—who do you reckon is the Head Boy?" Hermione let out a lax shrug as she continued toward the door at the end of the corridor. Ginny tried again. "Are you nervous about this year…I mean, it is NEWTs for you, Ron, and Harry, right?"

"Look, Ginny," replied Hermione after a long pause. "You don't have to do this and really, I would rather you not. I don't feel like talking at the moment."

"Hermione, you haven't felt like talking all summer," Ginny replied, her brow creased upward in concern. "You half to talk about this sometime before it eats you up inside. If you keep everything hidden, deep down, and let it fester inside, then you're going to explode and I highly doubt that you, or anyone else, will enjoy the outcome." Though Ginny's voice was soothing, something about the way that she spoke to Hermione made the elder girl flinch. "And what about…about your wrists? You wouldn't let mum touch them! Are there still scabs there? Have they—?"

"Ginny, shut up!" Hermione snapped, swirling around and glaring at the youngest of Weasley family. "Just shut up! It's none of your business! Just get off it and shut the hell up!" Her eyes, though still possessing the saddened gleam were dark and full of rage. '_How dare she!'_ Hermione continued to rage in her head. '_She has no idea how it feels to lose everything so quickly! She has not right to judge me or anyone else!'_

Hermione didn't stop to wait for Ginny's response, turning and speeding down the corridor, pushing a few students aside as she entered the Head's compartment. Her eyes were still dark, nearly black, with anger, and her muscles were tight beneath her skin.

"Bravo," came a familiar icy drawl from the doorway. Hermione, who had been standing with her back to the door, her hands clamped down over the top of the seat, whirled around. She groaned when she saw who was waiting behind her. Draco Malfoy, his head badge gleaming in superiority on his chest. "Quite a nice show, for a mudblood I suppose. I always thought that you were far too loyal and Gryffindor to snap at anyone, let alone Weasel's kid sister. Though I loathe admitting it—"

"Then don't!" snapped a voice behind Draco. He looked up and over to find that Ginny was standing behind him, her ears red with anger. "And move out of the way so the others may get through, you bloody ferret."

"Tut, tut, Weaselette," chided Draco, though his voice held hints of scorn and sarcastic playfulness. "I'd hate to have to place Gryffindor in the negatives before we've even reached the school." Ginny scoffed, gave him a contemptuous glare, and then sat down nearest the window.

Hermione took the seat farthest from Ginny and then awaited the arrival of the other prefects. When they arrived, Hermione cleared her throat, staring around at the seating arrangements. She was relieved to find that Collin Creevey, who had been made the second Gryffindor prefect, was sitting beside her, preventing Draco from sitting beside her. It wasn't as if he would if he could avoid it anyway.

The prefect meeting went as smoothly as Hermione had hoped and, when it was over, she stood up and returned to the compartment. Ginny had arrived a few minutes earlier than Hermione and had informed the boys about Hermione's outburst in the corridor. As the brunette entered, she noticed that both Harry and Ron were giving her wary glances and Ginny refused to look at her.

Hermione looked from one to the other for a moment before let out a barely audible, slightly perturbed sigh and starting to gather her things and leave, Crookshanks following her lead. She returned to the Head's compartment and had to stifle a groan when she discovered that she would not be alone. Draco Malfoy was still sitting inside, staring rather distractedly out the window. When she closed the compartment door with a click, he jumped slightly and gave her a look that said he clearly did not want to be disturbed.

"What? Not going to sit with your bloody boyfriends in their compartment?" he drawled, arching a brow but keeping a relatively expressionless face. "Did they finally get enough of you?"

"No," Hermione replied tersely.

Draco looked taken aback at her droning tone, having half expected her to retort with something forceful or resentful. He gave her a surprised look when she sat across from him, the ginger fur ball she called a cat curling up in her lap. She didn't seem to pay any mind to him as she turned her empty eyes to the window and fell back into the trance she had been in when she had shared a compartment with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

They had been sitting in silence, a rather uncomfortable silence in Draco's opinion, for nearly ten minutes when the door slid open again and a witch entered. She was a year or so younger than Hermione, with long, wavy, dirty blonde hair and large, permanently surprised blue eyes. She looked From Draco to Hermione and managed a somewhat small smile.

"Hi, Hermione," she said, in her quiet, dreamy voice. "How've you been?"

"Fine," murmured Hermione, her hand absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks' back. She looked up from the window and forced a smile onto her lips. "How about you, Luna? How had your father's magazine been coming along?"

"I'm normal," replied Luna, sitting down beside Hermione. "And the Quibbler has been raking in loads this summer. It suddenly got popular!"

"You father writes that rubbish?" questioned Draco from where he sat by the window, his head propped in his hand. Luna's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Actually, he's the editor," she corrected. Draco scoffed and then looked up.

"I always thought you kept weird friends, Mudblood," drawled the platinum-blonde Head Boy. "I suppose all the truly mental ones must stick together."

Hermione felt a twinge of rage building up in her chest. She didn't much care if he poked fun at her but over the summer, Luna had been especially supportive, sending letters of encouragement…well as much encouragement as one would hope to get from someone as wistful as Luna.

"You aren't very nice," Luna said, her tone a bit more down to earth. "You're that Malfoy boy, aren't you? Yes, I can see it in your face. Pointy nose and chin, suspicious gray eyes, and a lopsided smirk. Yes, you features say it all. You are most definitely Lucius Malfoy's son."

"What do you know about my father?" snapped Draco.

"Enough to know that he isn't a very…law-abiding, truth-speaking man of his word," retorted Luna, her voice venomous. "Come on Hermione. You can come and sit with me, Neville, Hannah, and Justin for the rest of the trip."

Luna took Hermione's hand and pulled her out of the Head's compartment, Crookshanks tailing them. Luna slammed the door shut, leaving a rather shocked and scowling Draco Malfoy behind.


End file.
